Tuesday, 5 January 2016

My Futa Wife and the Waitress, Part Four

For someone who has slept with a lot of women... and men... and everything in between, Colleen is actually a huge hygiene freak, so screwing her straight after going balls-deep in another woman’s ass would be a big no-no. Luckily they have a shower in here! Actually, the sink will probably do—it’ll be faster so I can get back to the fun stuff!

With the cool ceramic basin pressing on my upper legs, I scrub my dude thoroughly with soap and hot water. After a final rinse, I turn and see that Colleen is standing over the prostrate waitress. Both her hands are against the wall with her back facing me, and her legs are spread like she’s about to be frisked for drugs (except it appears as though she’s looking forward to the frisking, and wants desperately to be searched in the swimwear region). Her ruffled hair flows down almost to the cute little dimples on her lower back. She looks over her shoulder at me, then goes up onto her tiptoes, pushing her round butt out to greet me; she knows what I want.

I kiss her shoulder when I arrive, then savour the view from above: her small, curved feet with the cute toe ring I gave her for Valentine’s day, and the inexplicably arousing pink heels; her round calves, flexing to create one of the best shapes on the planet; and those cruelly curvaceous quads. I’d almost say she’s ‘all woman’ if it weren’t for the slab of dick hanging in front of her, pointing at the naked (slowly awakening) body on the floor; but hell, it’s hers as well, so I will say it: she’s all woman!

I reach between her cheeks to find her oyster; she’s still oozing with lube from the drenching I gave Amanda, and I’m sure with a tonne of her own juice, so I spread my feet to come down to her height, and spear my favourite vagina. ‘Oh, baby!’ she utters, closing her eyes and letting her head drop forward.

Colleen made a rule a few years ago that I’m the only dick allowed into her pussy. She can use her cock for whatever she wants, but her slit is sacred and belongs to me alone. I secretly think it’s just one of her hygiene quirks! Or she’s afraid of losing elasticity! Whatever the reason, I always feel like king of the universe when I enter my queen.

I grind against her thick tail slowly, deeply. I hear Marvin Gaye playing in the background of my mind. I breathe her perfume. My hands move from her fleshy hips toward her long penis, and I withdraw the rubber, throw it away; then slide her strained foreskin over her knob with two hands. I pull it back and press into her at the same time.

She gasps, ‘You know how I like it, baby. Ah!’ I do indeed, and I fucking love this position as well—I get to see what it feels like to masturbate with a horsecock, while at the same time fucking a beautiful woman’s tight, hot cunt.

I see Amanda has somehow gained enough energy to try to rub one out as well. She’s looking up at my wife’s gyrating body and our churning parts. Her legs have parted, and her fingers are working overtime on the top of her box. It will be sore as hell for the next few days!

I give her a good show. I grip Colleen’s cock by the base and pump it up even more than it is normally—the glans bulges out and reminds me of the Alien’s head... in Alien; and the veins along the body pop out like a bodybuilder’s arm. I hammer her pussy, beating her swinging balls with my own. Her cheeks jiggle with my sharp slaps. I pull her head back by her long hair for a passionate kiss. I squeeze and tease her luscious boobs. I use all my training to prevent myself from cumming before the girls.

The waitress’ mouth is open wide. Her fingers are a blur of side-to-side motion, focused on that hard little clit.

I continue pumping and stroking my wife, forming a tight ring with my two hands that stops at the base of her dark, shining crown, just the way she likes it. They’re both getting close. Hold on!

Amanda goes first. ‘Oh yes! Oh yes!’ This one looks like a more controlled, comfortable orgasm than those given to her by Colleen. Her stomach contracts; her legs roll up into a ball; her red face twists into full O-mode—eyes squinting, mouth agape—such a beautiful ugliness that I’ll never tire of seeing.

Colleen’s pulsing snatch tells me she’s about to join her. I fuck her fast. I milk her dick with long forward squeezes, crushing the smooth sheath along her steely hardness.

‘Oh fuck yes, baby! Make me cum, make me cum! AAAAAGH!’ She turns on the hose, drenching the twitching woman on the floor with several thick streams of white. I aim at all the best parts, and FIRE! At her boobs mostly, but also her legs, hips, and her hot tattoo, seeing if I can cover it up with cum (and it does!) The pussy juice running down my thighs is my last straw; my head twirls up into the clouds and I finally release my load, holding myself deep in my wife, my arms wrapped around her tight little body. I empty every drop into her, groaning, and biting her shoulder.

The waitress continues to serves us well, and slips underneath us to lap up the glorious mess from every surface of skin she can reach. She must have had a taste of Colleen’s sweet cream, because she can’t seem to get enough! She licks it off Colleen’s drooping rod, sucking from the tip whatever drops remain inside. She then does the same to mine when it falls out of its cave with a gooey splurt; but promptly reverts back to Colleen’s when she realises mine is just normal man-cum.


‘Jamey, sweetie, can you run out and get Amanda a new shirt?’ Colleen asks me, spinning around and giving me a tender peck on the cheek. ‘Hers is not really... practical anymore.’ She bends to pick up the sopping, torn shirt, holding it up with her thumb and forefinger like roadkill, and laughing. ‘I think I saw a shop next door.’

‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ Amanda protests while stepping into the shower. ‘I’ve got some spare clothes in my car.’

‘I insist!’ Colleen sweetly demands. ‘It’s the least we can do.’

‘Oh trust me,’ Amanda says with a shining smile, ‘you’ve done more than enough.’

I break up the stubborn politeness (females!) by quickly shoving on my wet clothes and running out of the bathroom with my wallet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I call to them as I close the door behind me.


‘Aaaaand here are your coffees,’ says the waitress in the new Metallica singlet. She places the mugs on our new table at the back of the café, in the nice, shaded area.

‘Aaaaand here’s our room number if you feel like coming over later.’ Colleen—looking decidedly satisfied and relaxed—hands her a piece of paper, lingering with a soft touch of her fingers. The waitress grins like a kid on Christmas morning, and puts it in her pocket. Her freshly-washed ponytail bounces as she skips away to get our breakfast. I notice a small streak of white on her ankle; then smile at Colleen.

‘Good choice for breakfast.’


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